Compromised
by freedomtowrite
Summary: Stuck in a situation that could and should have been prevented, Gilan needs an escape. Patience is his ally, but does he have the time?


Gilan was going to be late to the gathering this year. Annoying? Yes. Life ruined? No. It'd taken him longer than he thought to round up a group of bandits that had been harassing the people of Whitby. Once he'd realized this, he'd sent a letter ahead, telling Halt and Will not to expect him until later.

He'd left before he could receive their urgent return letter. Now well on his way, he was unaware of the danger he was in.

Blaze neighs, " _Can we please pick up the pace? You've already made us late._ "

" _I've_ made us late?" Gilan questions with a raised eyebrow and a smile, "If you recall, those bandits are the reason we're late."

She tosses her head in obvious annoyance. Chuckling quietly, Gilan complies, touching Blaze lightly with the heel of his boot. She instantly quickens her pace, apparently as eager to see her friends as Gilan was to see his.

It was another two hours before they neared the gathering grounds. The familiar trees and ocean scent brought back happy memories from years past. Gilan grins widely. He was excited.

His excitement faded to confusion though, when Blaze's ears twitched. A warning. He frowns, patting her neck, "What is it girl?" He asks her quietly. Her ears twitch again. He reins her in to a stop, the grounds themselves in sight.

But no Rangers.

"What is this?" Gilan questions quietly to himself, his eyes scanning the surrounding area for any threat of danger. He couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. He urges Blaze forward at a slow walk, still carefully assessing his surroundings.

Suddenly, a figure swung down from above, and it was only Gilan's quick reflexes that saved him from a broken foot. He slid his feet out of the stirrups as the figure slammed into him, knocking him from the saddle. Already at a disadvantage, being pinned beneath the other man, Gilan struggles to either get out from underneath, or get a hold of his saxe. He sees the other man reach for his own knife, "Blaze, panic!" He calls to his horse.

Hearing the command, Blaze rises onto her hind legs, neighing loudly. The horse then begins to do exactly what she was trained to do: panic. Gilan knew that Blaze wouldn't step on him, but he hoped his attacker didn't.

Sure enough, the man was suddenly more interested in getting to his feet and away from Blaze than attacking Gilan. Standing up and drawing his sword, Gilan points it at the man. He now had the upper hand.

"Blaze, calm." Instantly, she stopped her seemingly mindless rampage. "King's Ranger. If I were you, I'd surrender now." Gilan states.

The man, instead of surrendering like Gilan had expected him to, only laughs, "I'm not the one who will be surrendering." At his words, almost two dozen others creep out from various hiding places in the forest, all brandishing weapons, "We've been waiting a long time to get one of you Rangers."

This was bad. Gilan was smart enough to know when he was outmatched. Trying to fight all of them at once would leave him dead. There wasn't much he could do.

But there was one thing.

"Blaze," His horse's ears perk up, and her head turns to him, "Find Halt." He orders quietly. It wasn't one of the commands taught to Ranger horses, but she was smart- he hoped she'd understand. She stares at him for a split second, then darts off, running at a gallop.

"We knew one of you would show up eventually. It was only a matter of time." The man gestures to two of the others, "Take his things. Quickly. We have places to be."

In a matter of moments, Gilan was left in only his tunic, trousers, and boots. They'd taken everything else; even his silver oakleaf, which he'd thought was strange.

"Tie him up, and let's go."

* * *

Will and Halt were sitting in Crowley's office. Night was falling, and the room was illuminated by the fireplace in the corner. All three were staring at a map.

"What about here?" Will asks, pointing to a place in the south.

Halt shakes his head, "Too far South. The Rangers in the northern fiefs will be away for too long."

Crowley rubs his face with his hands, "I don't even know how the information got out. No one but Rangers know where the Gathering Grounds are."

Halt sits back, "Obviously, that's not the case anymore."

"You got that letter to Gilan?"

Halt nods, "It should have reached him before he left."

"Good. Don't want him wandering in there alone." The Commandant stands and stretches. He was stiff from sitting at a desk all day. "Why don't we give this a rest for now? We can continue tomorrow."

Both Will and Halt nod, standing. The location of the Gathering Grounds needed to meet very specific requirements, and none of the places they'd looked at so far was matching up to meet them. It was obnoxious, and incredibly annoying, but better than having the entire Araluen population know where they were meeting, and Rangers being put in danger.

And they _would_ have been in danger just a day ago, if so many hadn't been arriving at the same time. They were more than capable of scaring off the would-be attackers lurking in the trees.

Crowley shakes his head, bidding Halt and Will good night as they left the room. Sometimes, being Commandant was not the cup of tea everyone thought it was. Crowley shakes his head, amending that statement. _Oftentimes_ , being Commandant was not the cup of tea everyone thought it was. Really, it was more like a burnt loaf of bread.

* * *

A half-day of straight walking was not what Gilan had on his agenda, but it had happened anyway. Tied tightly, and with someone always on either side of him, opportunities for escape were next to none. So he waited. Dusk fell, and the group found a place to camp. Gilan, much to his dismay, was tied to a thick tree.

It was, to say the least, entirely uncomfortable.

Throughout the day he had maintained an unassuming attitude, remaining quiet unless spoken to, and was careful not to draw attention to himself. He knew that the more docile he was, the more likely they were to disregard him. In turn, making it more likely for his escape. He still didn't know why they wanted him, but he figured he'd find out in due time. Unless he escaped first. Patience was his ally. He itched to do _something,_ but instead he remained still, watching as slowly, the members of the camp retired to bed. After awhile, the campfire was put out, and Gilan and the man on watch were the only ones awake.

Finally.

Gilan kept an eye on the watchman as he slouched against the tree, stretching forward with his leg to try and reach for a stone he had seen earlier. It was broken on one side, leaving a relatively sharp edge. Sharp enough, Gilan hoped, to cut through the ropes that held him bound. It took several tries, but eventually Gilan was able to use his foot to slide the rock through the grass towards him. It took some maneuvering, _quiet_ maneuvering with an eye on the watchman, to get the rock into his hands. It wasn't long before he was cutting through his ropes.

He pauses as the man on watch stands up, and begins to make his way around the camp, scanning the trees. As he approaches Gilan, the ranger feigns sleep. Regardless of that, he comes closer, kneeling behind him to check the ropes. Mentally, Gilan curses- he was either going to be caught in the next few moments, or be free. Thankfully, he hadn't cut through enough of the rope yet for it to be noticeable in the dark, and the man seems satisfied.

Until he sees the rock still clenched in Gilan's hand. He calls out an alarm to the camp, and in this moment, Gilan knew he was caught. The man pulls out his short sword, knocking Gilan hard across the head with the hilt.


End file.
